Appreciate The Lady
by Lady Dudley
Summary: Molly had a little mishap in the rain and, true to form, Sherlock shows up just when she doesn't want him to. Follow-on of sorts to 'Christmas Blues' and 'Loose Lips.'


**A/N: Follow-on of sorts to 'Loose Lips' and 'Christmas Blues' that was inspired by my recent experience in wet weather whilst wearing ballet flats (although I managed to keep my footing). The song 'Appreciate The Lady' is from _The Fox and the Hound _(Thanks Meg!). Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Appreciate The Lady**_

…  
_When you feel that natural affection  
Lead you in a positive direction  
You gotta stop showing off  
Start showing up  
With little natural you_

_Yes, you gotta appreciate the lady  
And, now, that is a natural fact  
'Cause when you be yourself  
With a lady act  
You're gonna be appreciated right back._  
- 'Appreciate The Lady,' Pearl Bailey ('Big Mama')  
…

The next time it rained she was going to wear appropriate shoes, Molly decided grimly as she made her way down the street. Ballet flats really were _not_ appropriate shoes for this type of weather.

As if to prove her point, she lost her footing on the wet ground and found herself sitting in a puddle.

It was the latest in a long list of things to go wrong that morning and she couldn't decide whether she was annoyed or simply going to cry.

"Are you always this uncoordinated or do you make a special effort in inclement weather?" inquired a voice.

Molly glared up at Sherlock who was looking far too dry for her liking under his enormous umbrella.

"I slipped," she said flatly.

"So I see," he regarded her for a few moments, "do you need help to get up?"

Molly crossed her arms, feeling a little ridiculous, "I'm not entirely sure I want to get up."

"Don't be childish, Molly," he admonished her, "you'll get sick."

"What do you care," she grumbled to herself, glaring down at the flats that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

"Perhaps you should wear more appropriate footwear in the future," he suggested, following her gaze, "and carry an umbrella," he added.

"I _was_ carrying an umbrella," she protested, "it broke."

She would never be sure, but for a brief moment she could have sworn that Sherlock looked amused.

She shivered a little and all traces (if they had even existed) of Sherlock's amusement disappeared as he frowned, "You can't stay out here forever," he said flatly.

"I can try."

"You're being irrational," he informed her, bending to take a hold of her elbow and hauling her to her feet.

"And you're being obnoxious," she retorted pulling her arm free, her petulant tone marred a little by the way her teeth chattered.

Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh, "Hold this," he commanded, shoving the umbrella at her before slipping out of his coat and wrapping it securely around her shoulders.

She flushed a little as she looked up at him in surprise, "Thank you."

"There's no need to look at me like that," he informed her, taking back the umbrella, "I'm not about to let you freeze to death."

"Saves having to break in another pathologist I guess," she commented idly, pulling the coat tighter around her shoulders.

She realised it was the wrong thing to say as his eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw, "I'm sorry," she apologised in a rush, "I didn't mean to say that."

He eyed her, but said nothing and she chewed her bottom lip nervously; even since he'd come to her for help in faking his death – and particularly after his return – he'd been very sensitive about her tendency to run herself down or belittle her importance to him.

Although she still hadn't quite figured out why.

"So…how about this weather we're having," she said lamely after a long moment.

He rolled his eyes at her attempt at humour, "Are you sure you didn't hit your head?" he asked mildly.

She narrowed her eyes at him in mock annoyance, finding it hard to be really angry at him when she was wearing his coat, "Very funny."

He smirked and Molly knew she was forgiven for her earlier comment.

"You should probably get out of those wet things," he commented after a moment.

"You're probably right," she said, moving to take off his coat, "I have a spare set of clothes at the hospital."

"What are you doing?"

She looked up at him in confusion, "Returning your coat," she told him.

"Did I ask for it?"

"No."

"Then why are you giving it back?" he asked, looking as confused as she felt, "You obviously still need it."

"But…it's your coat," she protested as though that explained everything.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "It's just a coat, Molly, and at the moment you need it more than I do."

Molly wasn't sure what to say.

"Besides," he added, trying to sound casual, "as I'll be escorting you to St Bart's, you can give it back to me then."

"Escorting me?" she repeated, kicking herself for sounding stupid as she put his coat back on.

"Only one of us has a working umbrella," he reminded her.

"Right," she agreed, still not completely understanding the significance of that fact and allowing him to steer her in the direction of the hospital with a hand between her shoulder blades.

Once she had changed out of her wet clothes and dried her hair a little, Molly felt much more human as she made her way to the lab.

She stopped short at the sight that greeted her.

Next to her paperwork sat an assortment of cold and flu medication along with a steaming mug of hot water with lemon and honey.

She glanced at Sherlock who was seemingly oblivious to her presence as he concentrated on the microscope. She toyed with the idea of asking him what he'd done with the real Sherlock Holmes, before deciding to just enjoy it while it lasted and getting started on her paperwork.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock watched as Molly took a sip of her drink and the corner of his mouth twitched in a small, pleased smile.

Molly Hooper was always there for him when he needed her and Sherlock had decided that it was time he returned the favour.


End file.
